


The Insanity Underneath

by SlightlySane



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels), Till Death Do Us Part (Visual Novel)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Dubious Consent, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, If You Played The Game You Know What To Expect, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Incest, Multi, POV First Person, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Twisted Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlightlySane/pseuds/SlightlySane
Summary: Iris King has been unhappy in her marriage for a very long time. Nobody is sure why since Chris is her handsome and doting husband. But when her old flame visits her, shaking her already crumbling world, she will have to face many demons from her past and present life.
Relationships: Chris King/Original Character(s), Vincent (Boyfriend to Death)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Swallowed Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Say hello to my little donation to this small fandom. Also this is my first fanfic in over 15 years. You've been warned! 
> 
> ۹(ÒہÓ)۶

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > “Hey.” Chris comes from behind me, dejection already in his voice. He knows me well enough after 8 years. “Good morning.”
>> 
>> I don’t reply, fuming.
>> 
>> “Um… Here. Can you imagine they are still blooming in November?”
>> 
>> I take a quick glance at the object he is holding: it’s a red flower so withered you can barely recognize it’s a rose.

My sleep was  blissfully  empty, void of any dreams or nightmares. Only a deep slumber full of nothing. Quiet, still, black - like death.  Every time I opened my eyes and saw that I have more time to ignore reality, I rejoiced, sinking back into the abysmal waters of my mind .

But he ruined it with a kiss like a fucking Prince Charming. Or better yet, Prince _Annoying_. Shit.

I don’t open my eyes - this Sleeping Beauty wants the whole world to fuck off and leave her be. There is no kiss that can break the agony of my life. Especially not a kiss from _him_.

Luckily, he says nothing but lingers  just  a breath away from my face. I could feel the heat of his body and the smell of his hair gel. Oh, how I despise that smell.

Pretending to be still asleep, I shift away, hoping he will get the message. Luckily, he does this time.

The gel stench dissipates and my husband  slowly  leaves our bedroom. Hm?  I think  he stopped in the doorway… Oh, no. He is doing it again. Looking at me _that way_. And it _hurts_ . Stop it, Chris. Your eyes are piercing a hole through my back and puncturing my heart like needles. They are drilling through my spine so  mercilessly ! Please, Chris, just...

Go. Away.

Please.

After a long silence heavy with emotion, he steps through the doorway.

My sigh of relief is almost a whimper and my body curls into a tight ball, hiding my aching heart.

* * *

After two days off doing next to nothing, I can’t force myself to sleep more than 2-3 hours in one go without medications. I didn’t take any last night so my body is not giving me any choice. Also, when was the last time I ate? My stomach growls, twisting my empty intestines.

“So, no bed?” I mimic that old vine and giggle.

There’s no helping it, I must yield and get up. The time is 7.39. Too damn early. I’ll  just  have to take half a zaleplon a few hours before my shift this evening. If I don’t rest  properly , I’m fucked tonight - Vanessa is sick and JJ’s mom died yesterday. I don’t think they’ll find anyone to cover for her.

“Shit,” I croak as I reach for my cigarette pack and goosebumps cover my arm.

It’s freezing here! Fuck winter! I hope Chris turned on the heating downstairs before leaving... Where did he go? It’s too early for him to go to work. I tilt my head and notice his work suit still hanging off it’s usual place. That means he must have gone running. I look outside the window and all I see is the fog as thick as yoghurt.

He is crazy, I conclude as I light my first cigarette, taking a deep drag. Running every fucking morning like he is participating in the Olympics.

I stay in the bed for another couple of minutes before finally braving the cold. I cover myself with a blanket and run downstairs.

The living room  was indeed  warmer than the bedroom.  I pull the heater closer to the sofa before I throw myself on the cushions and tuck my feet underneath my thighs to warm them up . On the coffee table there was a breakfast waiting for me: two boiled eggs, two pieces of bacon and a cup of coffee. All which have gone cold.

He  really  can’t do anything right, can he? I told him not to prepare me breakfast. I often skip it or I’m not in the mood to eat whatever he cooked. It’s so annoying to waste food when we don’t have enough money to throw anything away. No use in being a gentleman if we are gonna starve, Chris, when will you fucking learn that.

The front door opens and alongside my husband a cold gust enters our house. Annoyed, I peek around the corner. There is a soft smile decorating Chris’s flushed face. He holds something in his hand while  clumsily  removing his running shoes.

Why is he smiling? Didn’t he go for a jog? Or did he… meet someone? Maybe _her_. Heh, must be. Why else would he have that stupid grin?

When our eyes meet, I turn my head, bitter taste filling my mouth.

“Hey.” Chris comes from behind me, dejection already in his voice. He knows me well enough after 8 years. “Good morning.”

I don’t reply, fuming.

“Um… Here. Can you imagine they are still blooming in November?”

I take a quick glance at the object he is holding: it’s a red flower so withered you can  barely  recognize it’s a rose.

“Mrs. Sullivan allowed me to pick it for you since I was staring at it so much. It…” he makes a pause to brace himself, “reminded me of you.”

I snort. “Because it’s dying in a time it shouldn’t be born? Freezing to death?”

The despair and regret on Chris’s face are almost instant, but there was a small, tiny moment before they took over his features completely  . His eyes dimmed for a split of a second. Was it… vexation? Disappointment? _Anger_? No, it can’t be anger. Chris angry? Ha!

“N-no! Come on, I--”

“My name is Iris if you have forgotten.” Malice coats my mind. “ Maybe  you should find a flower named Aria, instead.”

Chris lowers his head, already defeated. Wimp. What a wimp of a man.

“Or,” I continue, “if there are no flowers named Aria, for sure there must be some named _cunt_ , _bitch_ or _hellspawn_.”

“Stop it, please…” he whispers, his voice already breaking.

“Or  maybe  a brother-fucker.”

The rose falls on the carpet and Chris leaves. I thought he would go outside, but instead he runs upstairs. He slams the bathroom door.

I continue to sit in the living room, biting my lower lip, while a murky, poisonous feeling is building up in my stomach . Every thought that crosses my mind feeds it, makes it bigger, meaner, more dangerous. Finally, as my venom reaches its peak, about to burst through my chest, I run upstairs too, into our bedroom. On the other side of the hallway, the shower water is silencing any sounds Chris may be making.

In one of the drawers I find my strap-on.  I remove my clothes, (I’m no longer cold, since gall is keeping me warm now) put it on around my waist and attach the biggest dildo I have in my arsenal . I don’t even lube it.

I enter the bathroom. My idiot husband should  really  start locking the door. The mist is so thick and hot I can  barely  see Chris in the shower. But he is there, facing the wall, slouched. The trapezius muscle of his right arm is moving. I know what he’s doing… I know exactly what he does when he’s frustrated.

In one swift motion, I open the shower door. Chris stops jerking off and turns toward me. His eyes  are inflamed  whether from crying or hot water I do not know. Fuck. He looks so cute with those big blue eyes and wet brown hair falling down his forehead. Like a puppy surprised by the rain. Always looking like a lost, scared, weak puppy.

He  is confused  at first, seeing me there with him. Naked, too. We haven’t had sex in… oh, months. And then he notices the dildo. Fear, disgust, disappointment - so many emotions flood his face, none of which are positive.

“Iris, please, don’t…” he pleads.

“Turn around.”

He is so much taller than me. He could overcome me with his pinkie… But I know he won’t. He never disobeys me. Not  directly  anyway.

Chris swallows hard but turns around, exposing his nice ass to me. I explore the rest of him for a little bit. His muscles are more defined than I remember. Did he become this muscular from jogging only? But his arms, shoulders... I bite my lip. It would be nice if he would… But he won’t. I know he would never do that.

I turn off the shower so that I can hear him scream and moan. I’m already so wet by imagining those sounds.

“Please, let’s--” he tries again.

“Shut up.” I don’t want to listen to any of that. “You’ll like it. You always do.”

I push him down so that he would kneel. He knows the drill - immediately he bends forward until his face is on the floor. I can’t reach his anus otherwise. I slide my hands down his hips, feeling his muscles and bones. While I caress his inner thighs, he shudders. I then kneel down too and take his balls in one hand and his massive cock in the other. Such an intimidating thing. It caused me so much pain in the beginning even though Chris tried so hard not to hurt me. I milk his semi-hard dick until it’s  fully  erected again and my husband starts to moan against wet tiles.

The dildo around my waist is pretty much the same girth as his manhood. I know it brings pain as much as pleasure.

I rub the tip of it between Chris's cheeks. His anus spasms a bit, looking rather willing to gulp such a big thing. I spit on the rubber glans and push it against that hungry hole until it sucks it in.

Chris releases a weak sound. He was never too vocal during sex and this  probably  isn't very pleasurable for him. I don't give a shit, though. Still, I go easy on him at first.  I wish I had those double-dildoed strap-ons but I enjoy rocking my hips back and forth and hearing strained sounds dripping from Chris's mouth .

Soon enough, my husband reacts in a more positive manner, his whimpers turning into moans. I rub his back, like he is a horse I'm riding on.

"You like this, don't ya? You like this big cock inside of you?"

I pick up speed before Chris is ready for a more violent approach. He groans and not in a happy way. My blood is getting hotter. I want to hurt him and I want to please him at the same time. Friction from the strap-on rubbing against my pussy isn’t enough for me to orgasm… but I do enjoy this so much.

Chris is panting  heavily , sweating and trembling. “Please…”

I don’t care what he wants. I pound him as hard as I can. At this point I’m not sure if he is in pain or not.

“I’m not gonna stop fucking you until you cum!” I yell.

“Iris…” Chris can hardly speak. He turns his head over his shoulder. His cheeks are so flushed and wet from sweat. “Can I jerk off, please?”

Fuck me, he’s such a bitch! I allow him and in a matter of seconds, the whimpers turn to soft moans.

“Cum all over that floor while your sweet wife fucks you.”

He usually says my name when he orgasms and this day is no different. With a  barely  audible _Iris_ escaping his lips, he shoots his load all over the bathroom tiles.

I pull out and immediately unbuckle the harness allowing the strap-on to fall. For some reason it feels like I’m free of heavy chains.

I leave the bathroom and go back to my bedroom. Sweaty and horny, I lie down and cover myself.  With a few deft movements of my fingers, I  quickly  reach my climax… But it’s weak and I don’t feel any more satisfied then before .

Bathroom door opens. I only move my eyes toward them, hoping I won’t meet Chris’s.. My husband  slowly  exits, limping a bit, with a towel around his waist. He doesn’t want to look at me either. He takes an oversized suit he needs for work and goes downstairs, not uttering a word.

Once he’s gone, I place my face on the pillow and finally start sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My main goal for this fic is to explore the abusive personality of MC in Chris's route. I especially like his route because of it. It's so unusual for visual novels for MC to be such an asshole. I love it!
> 
> So, I have an outline for this, I know exactly what happens, how, when... I just have to write it. 
> 
> How did you like the first chapter? Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this (or not, constructive criticism is always welcome) and let me know if you would like to read more.
> 
> Sane ♱♡‿♡♰


	2. Lurking in the Fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _Stop it, you fucker_ , I should say. No, I should headbutt him, I should—
>> 
>> He puts pressure on my neck and the sound of my body's panic floods my ears. This is bad. Terrible. Awful.
>> 
>> But it feels so _good_.
>> 
>> He moves forward, close enough to playfully rub our noses together.
>> 
>> “Did you miss me, kiddo?”
> 
> *drumroll* Here comes... the wolf asshole we all love. Awoooooo :3

After a deep sleep, mind poisoned by a nice big piece of zaleplon, I wake up feeling like a proper shit. If I didn’t set my alarm, I would probably sleep until New Year’s eve. My pillow has a disgusting stain from my spit as I was drooling profusely like an old man in an armchair. Still nude, I wobble to the bathroom. The woman staring back at me from the mirror is a genuine horror movie material. I yawn before splashing my face with cold water. It hardly helps improve my look.

It takes me a significant amount of time to put on my uniform and tie my hair in a proper ponytail. Which means I don’t have time to put on make-up. Fuck. So dark circles, gray skin, blood-shot eyes are my look for the night… Like in the old days. I had a good time during uni. So much booze, kush and insomnia must have reduced my lifespan by a decade.

I hastily put on some mascara and the only lipstick I could find - a blood-red one. Kinda appropriate for the night shift.

I haven’t spoken or even heard Chris since I woke up. I wonder what is he doing? In all truth, I don’t want to meet him. He probably doesn’t want to meet me either. As I walk downstairs, I notice how quiet the house is. And the whole ground floor is dark? Why didn’t he turn on the lights? What is he doing?

I don’t have the time to think about it right now. I put on my boots and coat, loosely wrapping a shawl around my shoulders. It is a fifteen minute drive to my work and my shift starts in twenty!

I hesitate.. Is he even at home? Should I _lock_ the house? After glancing one last time at, what seems to be an empty living room, I close the front door, not really able to ignore a creepy feeling tightening my guts. I lock the door - just in case.

* * *

The fog was so thick it took me 45 minutes to get to work. Okay, I had a quick stop at Starbucks to pick up my cup of Blonde Espresso. It was really an emergency because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to find my hospital. If I was gonna be late, 5 minutes or 20 minutes wouldn’t make a big difference to my monthly performance report. But they _would_ make a big difference for my overall mood. That’s why I decided not to rush.

Of course, as soon as I enter the building, the main nurse gives me an earful. Asskissing bitch. Go lick director’s smelly balls, you hag! I couldn’t say this, unfortunately, because I need this job. Badly. So I put on my most pathetic-looking expression and chant _I’m really sorry, it won’t happen again_ every minute.

As I expected, my shift is a nightmare. Coffee boosted me the first hour but after that fatigue and hunger slowed me down. Not to mention a migraine split my head open. 

Because we are understaffed tonight, I am allowed to take a break around midnight. And since the main nurse is always somewhere around the corner, I couldn’t even make a short cigarette break before that. So I had to endure 6 hours without a fag! I absolutely despise that woman.

Finally - finally! - the midnight comes and I run behind the main building to my precious designated smoking area. I didn’t button up my coat so the freezing November air quickly numbs my bones. But I don’t care. Not even the rancid stench coming from the dumpster right next to me could spoil my delight.

I take a drag inhaling a bitter cloud of nicotine, garbage odor and fog at the same time. I can taste the night at the tip of my tongue and how it slowly rolls down my throat right into my empty stomach. I savour the filth of this stupid town. Fog erases the world around me. Only a single lamp highlights the ethereal swirls. Why do I feel nostalgic all of a sudden? 

“Shit.” I recoil. A... voice? From where? It’s so otherworldly that it seems like it came from underneath the fog and climbed up my spine like a gremlin. “Darlin’ you changed so much I could barely recognize you.”

That… _voice_.

My entire body locks. Like when a machine runs out of juice. Even my breathing stops. The only thing disturbing this catatonic state is the hysterical beating of my heart.

That southern drawl.

I… I can’t even _think_ about the name branded by that voice. I would shatter if I do. But… is that really _him_? Am I imagining this? Only slow steps, beating like a clock, give me some hope that I haven’t completely lost my mind. That he really _is_ here. Not that it makes the situation any better.

Fog swirls around a dark shape without any clear features. The yellow light only emphasizes the shadows framing the man’s body instead of revealing his true identity. But I don’t need to see his face to know. His presence stirs my memories like a witch stirs her cauldron. And the content inside is…

“Hey, kiddo.”

I start to tremble. Like a child when they imagine a monster lurking inside their wardrobe. The tremor is so strong I have to lean on the wall behind me for support. My cigarette slips between my fingers.

“Say something for fuck’s sake.” His hands are tucked in his pockets and he shrugs, tension in his voice. 

“Say what?” I somehow manage to squeeze those words through my clogged throat.

“Shit, anything,” he sounds relieved as he takes a step closer, “ _Hey, you motherfucker_ is good for starters.”

The way he moves and talks. The way he _breathes_. Everything… is just too painful. Maybe… Maybe this is an accident. A freaky coincidence as a result of a drunken game among angels and demons: what will happen to Iris tonight? If I roll one, a meteor hits the hospital, two, she faints and pisses herself, three, her ex accidentally meets her while having a midnight walk, and four, five and six, she dies and doesn’t have to deal with this world ever again!

"Ah, ain't this romantic," he says with a toothy smile, "Reunion of lovers… next to a dumpster."

"Quite appropriate if you ask me,” I retort. “The smell reminds me of you."

He sincerely laughs. "I'm glad to see you're still a high quality bitch. _Have a barbed tongued woman next to you and you can face the Devil_. Now ain't that the truth."

So chatty. Always yapping like there's no tomorrow. The moment he closes his mouth, however, is when chills run down my spine.

“Iris…”

 _Don’t say my name like that!_ I grit my teeth so that I don’t scream that out loud. Instead I snap: “What do you want?”

He stops in his tracks and snorts. “What do I want? To see you, dammit.”

Shit. Shit shit shit! Why wasn’t this accidental?

“No.” I’m not capable of saying anything else. It's one big _no_. No to him. No to memories. No to my whole fucking life. Just no. No more.

He is a few steps away from me now - and his face is clear, unfiltered, raw. Just like I remember. Meeting that grey eye again cuts through my body like an ice shard. Especially since his brow is furrowed and his jaw clenched. 

“No? What do you mean no? Explain,” he demands.

Explain - what? That this hurts more than he can imagine? That I was broken, healed and then broken again? That I cannot look at him without thinking how much I cared for him, adored him, wanted to give him everything I had? Even after all the bruises, all the blood and pain, all the shit he put me through - after all that I still fell in love with him and then… And then... 

My chest fills with something horrible and I’m about to pass out or scream. I have to leave!

As I turn toward the door he slams his arm next to my face. Not that I didn’t expect a move like that one. My legs start to wobble and I almost grab that same elbow for support. Smells of petrol, oil and collected filth from every bar, roadhouse, tavern and probably at least one whorehouse mix with his cologne. 

I close my eyes, holding my breath, trying to slow down the rush of my own blood. 

“Look at me, doll.” His voice is so husky, almost abrasive. 

_Hell no._

“Move,” my voice is surprisingly calm and collected. At least there is some dignity left in me.

“I just wanna talk.” He brushes a finger down my cheek and pulls my chin upwards. I can feel his warm breath. Booze, fags and… _chocolate milk_. Jesus fucking... “Just a little chat.”

“I don’t want to—” 

He squeezes my jaw so hard, the inside of my mouth scrapes against my teeth. “I said, open your eyes.” It's still not too painful but I wasn't ready for a power play now. I obey, exposing my fragile inner self to the man I loved like a lunatic. 

The grey shine of his eye, dangerous like molten metal. And his smile - his smirk. A heartdevouring demon.

“Good gal”, he purrs and my core vibrates to the rhythm of his vocal cords. The palm of his hand slides down my face and onto my neck, skillfully locating my arteries. Intense surge of adrenaline forces me to gasp - not out of fear. No, far from it. 

Ah, look at that smug face! The bastard knows _exactly_ what he's doing to me. His eye drops to my lips and he bites his own - deliberately, painfully, slowly. His sharp teeth sink into his flesh, taunting me like the sweetest candy. I press my thighs together as my clit pulsates from neediness demanding touch. Fuck, I’m so wet! 

_Stop it, you fucker_ , I should say. No, I should headbutt him, I should—

He puts pressure on my neck and the sound of my body's panic floods my ears. This is bad. Terrible. Awful. 

But it feels so _good _.__

____

____

He moves forward, close enough to playfully rub our noses together. 

“Did you miss me, kiddo?”

And then he pushes his hand between my thighs and, as if he has eyes on his fingertips, presses my sensitive bud in just the right way. The jolt of pleasure electrifies my every nerve. The dazzling pulse is so sudden I whimper, my breath caught in his other hand. I grab the front of his jacket pulling him toward myself. His touch - a simple, light touch of his single finger - destroyed any sensible thought I had. My blood boils. I need _more_! Just a little bit more to push me over the edge to delightful insanity.

“Please…” My voice is a pathetic sob.

“Hm? What is it, pup? What do you need? I’ll give it to you.” He coos next to my ear and puts even more pressure on my arteries. Dizziness washes over me. Please, make me cum, I wish to say, but I can’t speak anymore as my whole soul is drawn to my dripping, swollen, hungry middle.

“King! Iris King, where in God’s name are you?”

What was meant to be an implosion of divine orgasm shatters into million pieces of nothing. The cold November night, the fog, the stench, the dim light, the main nurse, the hospital, Chris, my life - everything floods me like septic water. I finally snap out of it.

I push his hand away and air infiltrates my lungs. “In a sec! I dropped my ID card somewhere.” Luckily I pour lies without any trouble.

“King?” My last name oozes from his lips like bile. He is in shock. “ _King?_ ”

He grabs my hand and lifts it to his face. My wedding band is simple, but has immense power right now.

“What is this?”

What an idiotic question. Thank you, nurse Laura, for dragging me back from what might have been my third biggest mistake in life.

“This?” I point at my ring. “Oh, this is to emphasize _this!_ ” And I flip him off.

He is not amused and growls. But even he knows he won’t be able to do anything more now. I shove him and start walking away.

I’m not amused either. My life is a huge mess already. Bringing him back to the picture is only adding a dumpster of crap to my already shitty existence.

I can’t believe it. After ten years I meet him again. My kidnapper, my rapist and my lover. The one who broke my mind and my heart. 

Vincent fucking Metzger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> How do you like it so far? Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this (or not, constructive criticism is always welcome) and let me know if you would like to read more.
> 
> Sane ♱♡‿♡♰


	3. Words Don't Come Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  “Finally,” a hoarse voice echoes against the tiles and my rib cage, “No more running.”  
>  I spin around, almost losing my balance, but all I manage to catch a glimpse of is a toothy grin beneath raven hair. Lights go out with a sharp click. There is a black silhouette encircled by yellow shine blocking my only exit. I’m in deep shit.  
> 

I thought I was in some kind of trouble. That I doubled my break. Turns out we have an emergency and my rest has to be cut short. I want to cry.

EMTs bring two people, a man and a woman. They are almost completely burnt, looking human only by their form. And the smell… I’m a decently experienced nurse, and I’ve seen (and been) through a lot. Body fluids, gaping wounds, foul odors of all kinds don’t bother me, but the smell of burning human flesh and hair will forever make me gag.

I do finish my work - somehow - and almost run out of the ICU room. Nurse Laura follows me and scowls after inspecting my face.

“When did you last eat?”

“Like food or shit?”

The main nurse rolls her eyes but fails to hide a crooked smile. She can be foul mouthed when she wants to and her jokes are top tier nasty. Like dead baby jokes nasty. That’s her only redeeming quality, actually. 

“Go wash and eat something. They are stable and it’s quiet now.”

She doesn’t need to tell me twice.

I go down the hallway, away from ICU, and open a window wide open. It’s windy and the cool air instantly cleans my guts from the awful stench. I feel like a new woman, refreshed as if I took a shower. It’s almost 2am and this small town is quiet, almost dead - not that it’s a lot more livelier during the day. You can hear dogs barking here and there and barely anything else.

So... Vincent.

My heart would pick up the pace every time I would think of him - even while trying to clean third-degree and fourth-degree burns without vomiting. I laugh inwardly - not that Vincent would mind a bit of vomit. That sick bastard.

I rub my forehead with my trembling fingers. Just the bare idea of him near me accelerates my body in a familiar way. My insides are in a flutter. There are many volatile emotions underneath all that, but… I’m not sure what kind or how many. The only thing I’m sure of is that I still have hots for Vincent Metzger. Fuck me and my twisted brain. 

I take out my cigarette pack. As I light my only stress-reliever, a sharp, abrupt whistle breaks my moment of peace and self-care. Who the fuck whistles in the middle of— Oh. I don’t know how I did not predict this. It makes perfect sense. Of course he wouldn’t just leave. Of course he wouldn’t just turn around and find another road to traverse.

Vincent stands below my window, his hands tucked in his pockets, looking rather pissed. That leather jacket can’t be enough for this cold November morning. He must have forgotten how far up north he is. Dumbass.

He gestures with his hand to join him. I wiggle a negative response with my index finger. He shakes his head before repeating his signal in a more distinct manner like I didn’t understand him the first time. You can’t boss me around anymore, jerkface. Irritated, I flip him off again. With a scoff he places his index and middle finger on both sides of his mouth and sticks his squirming tongue out.

I hated, I really _hated_ the fact I could feel that wiggle between my legs.

I should… leave.

As I throw my cigarette butt through the window and push myself away, he shouts: “Let’s talk, kiddo. You owe me that.”

The fuck did he— Did he say… _owe?_

“I don’t fucking owe you anything, asshole!”

“Hey now, I’m only asking you to talk with me. For five fuckin’ minutes. That's all.”

“You wanna talk? Here’s a talk: fuck you!”

“You’re being ugly.”

God, I wish I had a gun right now!

As I pace up and down the corridor, unable to find any way to vent, Vincent adds: “I can hear you squeal like a spoiled brat all the way down here. An adult woman throwing a hissy fit.”

Frustrated, annoyed, mad beyond words, I launch, grab the window sill and spit on him. I regret my action immediately, but at least I was surprisingly precise. My chest swells from gloating when he _moves_ so he would not be hit with my projectile. 

“Real piece of work, Miss— Oh, my apologies - _Mrs._ Iris.”

“Stop talking and go away! “I wipe my lips, worrying if someone heard my yelling.

“Not gonna happen. Not until we talk.”

“I’m done talking to you!”

I slam the window shut and retreat to the opposite wall, away from him. Out of sight, out of mind, right? And it was like that - for almost ten years. Well, eight. Actually five - give or take… Shit, who am I lying to? My knees buckle and I end up on the floor. I _am_ out of my damn mind. I always have been. He was never too far from my thoughts. Never too far.

I remember everything so clearly like it happened yesterday. I was really bored that evening and decided to look for trouble. The pool hall was near my apartment at that time. I got dressed and headed out there. _Route 66_ ’s crooked sign lit in hellish red light. I remember the stench of old leather and unwashed bikers’ armpits that stuck to every corner of that building. Every man and woman scanned me from head to toe. They quickly noticed my tits and ass squeezed underneath the King Diamond t-shirt and tight jeans. Their faces spoke for them - they knew why I came there and they all wanted a slice of that cake. 

I really wasn’t going to be picky. I just wanted to drink for a while, browse the meat and choose the right piece for the night. But Farz decided he didn’t like the way I breathe, I guess. Little twerp. However, thanks to him, I met Vincent, the bar co-owner and bouncer. His arrogance was unparalleled. It didn’t take us long to hit it off and leave the place.

In his apartment we had a good fuck. Real good. And then… I saw something I shouldn’t. Oh, how an innocent little mistake can turn a one night stand into a kidnapping. Happens to all of us, doesn’t it? I remember what he did to me. All of it. And he did it _for days._ Every smell, every sound, every pain, every pleasure, every spoken and unspoken word got etched into my mind. 

Those wounds never healed. Not even after 10 fucking years.

“Iris, we have another emergency!”

Nurse Laura’s voice echoes around me and wakes me up like a slap on the face. I have no idea for how long I dozed off. I jump to my feet, shake my head to wake up, and run to the reception.

Two emergencies in one night? In this dumpster of a town? And it’s the same night my bloodthirsty ex decided to stalk me? I must be the luckiest girl around. And seeing what - or better yet, _who_ is the emergency, confirms my assumption. 

Vincent is leaning on the counter, holding his severely cut forearm. There is a trail of blood leading to him from the entrance. Nurse Laura is rushing toward him with a first aid kit.

“Whoops, clumsy me,” he says with a shrug, “My drunken ass fell on a broken bottle. It hurts _so much_.”

This fucker. It’s so apparent that he is lying. Laura, of course, is far too focused on her job to notice that smug grin. Vincent is a werewolf and not only does he have an exceptionally high pain tolerance, but also heals unnaturally fast. This wound, even though rather deep by the looks of it, is only a scratch for him. And most definitely not something he should visit the ER for.

Our eyes meet and I… can’t read his expression. Is he angry, sad? Hopeful?

“Kirsten!” Main nurse’s voice cracks when she spots the youngest staff member. Kirsten is only 20 and has difficulty settling in the role of RN. Disheveled and tired, looking more like a patient than a nurse, the girl trips before reaching pissed off Laura.

“Playing hooky in ER! Sweet Jesus, Mary and Josef! Snap out of it, you’re no longer in high school, you little...” She grabs Kirsten and presses her hand on the gauze covering Vincent’s arm. “Don’t you move now. Iris, get the fuck out of here. You didn’t have a decent rest since the start of your shift. Go to my office and lie down.”

She throws me her keys and I manage to catch them in midair. This is awfully... kind of her. I know she is vaguely aware of my problems, but… Still, I won’t question her motives. I’ll lock myself inside until the end of my shift, drink a quarter of zaleplon and to the Hell with all of them.

For a brief moment I look at Vincent - he is definitely not happy with this outcome. He probably hoped I’ll be the one to take care of his wound. Well, you persistent fucker, not this time. 

* * *

I wake up feeling as shitty as when I laid down - I check my watch - 35 minutes ago. Why the fuck did I wake—? Oh, I need to pee. Fuck.

I’m so exhausted. My head hurts like a bunch of trolls are bowling in my head. I exit the main nurse’s slash medicine storage slash break room and head down the hallway to the nearest loo. And it is the patients’ toilet, not the staffs’ one. Well, neither are really exotic looking so who cares.

Hallway is dark and quiet - eerily so since I’m used to it being full of screaming kids - but the light switch is all the way back and I will _not_ walk further than really necessary. After working here for 3 years, I know my way around. Besides, a jaundiced yellow street lamp casts enough light for me not to trip on some lost toy. Naked tree branches form bony shadows over the tiles, swaying like they are at some rave.

Oh, how I miss raving. Alcohol, drugs, music, sweat and spit, vomit and cum all over the place. It was disgusting - and incredible. I once attended a rave orgy. Memories flood my mind and body, both thrilling and horrifying. Damn, I was one crazy bitch a decade ago.

Where did that carefree, borderline depressed and insane girl go? I turn on the lights and, as the flickering fluorescence fills the barely hygienic bathroom, I spot a ghoul staring at me in the mirror. Jesus fucking Christ, I look appalling. I mean, I’ve looked and smelled far worse, but at least I had fun the night before.

My black hair is a mess, my skin a shade paler from corpse’s and bags under my eyes could carry groceries. Not to mention my mascara covered most of my face as if I’m imitating Kiss. Every pore and wrinkle is as deep as a trench. Luckily, I’m not so insecure - I realize it’s this awful sterile light’s fault. What I really don’t like is that I lost so much weight. I adore my curves. Even though I love skeletons and skulls and seeing freckle sprinkled collarbones on a dainty lady gives me the will to breathe, I prefer my lady cushions. I should eat more mayo.

“Finally,” a hoarse voice echoes against the tiles and my rib cage, “No more running.”

I spin around, almost losing my balance, but all I manage to catch a glimpse of is a toothy grin beneath raven hair. Lights go out with a sharp click. There is a black silhouette encircled by yellow shine blocking my only exit. I’m in deep shit.

My heart is racing, choking me, and I’m not sure is it entirely out of fear. This kind of excitement - this reminds me of my high school and sexual games we played. We would push each other in rooms and closets and then we would make out with whoever was pushed inside with us. It was so exciting and riveting, my mind would spin around every time. I loved the unknown.

But this is different. I know who this is. I know what he does. But - despite everything - the thrill is _higher_.

I can’t see him but I know he can see me very clearly. In slow steps, carefully treading so that I won’t be able to escape, he stops in front of me. His presence is so raw. His callousness radiates from him and you can feel it from across the room. There is no distance big enough to escape it.

“How did you find me?”

“Oh, you want to talk now, do ya?”

My eyes are adjusting to the darkness and I can spot a dim glistening of his eyeball and teeth. He is now pushing me backwards toward the bathroom counter. My ass hits the edge and the next second, Vincent is directly in front of me. He bends forward and places his fists on the countertop, next to my hips, towering over me. He doesn’t speak - he is _scanning_ me. I know he can see me very well in the dark, much better than any human can.

“No. I’m just curious.”

“Kirsten Dunst told me.”

“Kirsten… _Dunst_?”

“Yeah. She looks just like her, right? Small, round head and pretty as a peach. Not really my type but I wouldn’t say no to her. Also, she has a weakness for hurting bad boys.” His grin widens like a wound. “All I had to do was make a puppy face and tell her how I miss my wonderful ex and I just want a minute to reconcile with her. She almost cried. If I continued any further, I think she would suck my dick only to comfort me.”

I barely suppress a laugh. Yup, that’s Kirsten. Not really the brightest bulb in the pack, but she experiences a complete blackout when anything tall with a dick passes by her.

“So…” Vincent’s face is barely centimeters from my face and I know he is inhaling my scent. “Iris… _King_.” 

He is holding that word in his mouth with his teeth like a hot potato. “ _King, King, King…_ ” The repetition is so annoying I want to punch him.

“So how is your _King_ treating you?”

The way he articulates my last name reminds me of the time when I had to say sorry to that kid who spat on my hair and almost ended dead when I pushed him off the stairs. It was a bitter word, secreted from my own venom but coated in something clinical and acceptable. I oozed more of that before saying:

“Better than you did.”

Vincent chuckles. “Tryin’ to hurt me, pup? Oh, poor, sensitive me can’t handle this much pain. Oh, hold me, darlin'.”

He leans down like he wants to kiss me. Instead, he moves my hair to the side and dives in the shadows above my neck. His nose is sliding down my skin, just beneath my earlobe. I shiver, need slowly welling up at the bottom of my stomach.

“You smell just like my Iris. But sure as Hell you don’t look like her. That King of yours did something to you, didn’t he? He broke you. And not in a good way.”

No matter how still infatuated I am by this man, I fucking have my standards. I shove him.

“ _He_ broke me? Think again, you dumb fucker.”

“Good!” Vincent sounds genuinely satisfied. “I was getting worried there for a sec.”

He grabs my throat, placing light pressure beneath my jaw - and my head immediately swirls. 

“You know what?” Vincent’s voice is low. Very low. “I’m not in the mood to talk anymore. I want to…”

He trails off and his hand slides under my thigh. My body reacts and moves toward him like a moth flies toward a deadly light. 

“I want to…” 

_What do you want?_ I wish to ask him. But I know he won't be able to answer. He scans my face, jumping from one feature to another, as if he's looking for something. His one eye is fully functional, the other one is barely active… in a physical sense. Without any proof aside from my gut feeling, I’ve always imagined that something is located there, just behind that broken eyeball, hidden behind his hair. Something important. And I feel it right now, like radiation, that it is looking at me now. 

_Don’t fucking do this, Vincent. Don’t. Please. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to feel it again._ But my body doesn't care for the bleeding tears of my heart. I want Vincent so badly. My core is pulsating and my pussy, untouched for weeks, is eager to be filled with a familiar shape.

Finally, Vincent sneers, but there is a stain of defeat in the corner of his lips. His fingers are skilled, locating my life tubes with ease... but his touch is unfamiliar, similar to stranger's. Vincent hides his face in my hair again, growling, just a breath away from my skin. If he bites me - if he tastes me, rather - he will lose control. I know it like I know my own voice. I’m on the edge too, just next to the abyss, swinging my foot above the darkness, tasting the freedom and corruption in the winds coming from the Hell below me. I close my eyes, slowly sinking. Should I move forward? Should I embrace this man made of barbed wire and moonlight who can vanish into thin air, moody and unstable as he is? 

“Hey…”

I open my eyes. He is standing still, looking at me in a distant way, nervously biting his cheek. It’s so unusual to see him so… insecure. But his body language reveals steel resolve. Or is it maybe just maximum self-control? 

“Actually no. I don’t want to.”

It’s hard to think when he’s all around me. When my senses are flooding my brain like a tsunami. He... doesn't want to... huh?

Vincent slowly leans forward, lowering his hands back to the counter. Sharp annoyance covers his features.

"Why... did you..."

This chatty fucker actually doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what he wants! 

“Spit it out.” I’m such a charmer sometimes. “I’m getting sick of this hot and cold game. Fuck me or just go!”

Vincent laughs, but it’s a hollow, empty sound. He shakes his head and takes a deep breath before transforming back to his old cocky self.

“Tell me, pup...” His disparaging voice is so annoying. He grabs my hand and looks at my wedding band. “Are you a proper, faithful wife? Is your King treating you like a proper, loyal husband?”

He then throws away my hand like it’s a piece of garbage.

“What? What does he have to do with this?” It is a bit surprising I didn't think about Chris even for a second. 

“Doesn’t he?” Vincent cocks his eyebrow.

I didn’t want to admit to him what a spineless jellyfish I married. It’s none of his business anyway. But enough is enough. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t hold it in.

“I need to pee.”

Vincent is surprised at first… but then elation spreads over his face. Of course that would make him smile. Of course his grin would go from ear to ear.

“Well, well, well. Finally something nice to come out of your mouth.”

I wasn’t expecting him to hoist me up and place me on the counter. That made things even worse. 

“Why did you do that?”

“For talking.”

It was such a simple statement, but he managed to put all of his ego into it. I knew this wasn’t going to end well. 

“Again with the talking! I don’t have anything to say to you anymore.” 

It would be so easy to give in, dive into this rotten swamp again. Just like when passing by a car accident - you want to see every detail even though you know you’re gonna be sick all day after that. Maybe even longer. Maybe even a decade.

“Oh you do.”

This asshole is… A surge of stubbornness washes over me.

“I will not talk. I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Ever. Fuck off!”

He inserts his index fingers under my uniform and hooks them on the hem of my pants. In one swift movement, he pulls them down from under me and I’m left in my underwear while my scrubs are dangling around my ankles. The counter is uncomfortably cold against my ass and thighs. Vincent lowers his eyes, looking at my panties. He licks his lips.

“If you don’t want to talk,” Vincent’s voice is dry and icy, “I’m gonna make you scream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> How do you like it so far? Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this (or not, constructive criticism is always welcome) and let me know if you would like to read more.
> 
> Sane ♱♡‿♡♰


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